


a story without memory

by enmity



Category: Persona 2, Persona Series
Genre: Eternal Punishment, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 07:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13631331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enmity/pseuds/enmity
Summary: The bruise stayed for a week afterwards.





	a story without memory

**Author's Note:**

> spent the first 2 hours of my birthday hunched over my computer writing this, happy birthday me

The bruise stayed for a week afterwards. It ached again, briefly, when she saw him at the crossroads; she knew without looking that the mark he’d left above her waist when they’d bumped that day had begun to fade, leaving behind pallid afterthoughts of its original red and blue. But she knew, too, without having to press her fingertips over fabric and skin, against the most tender part of a wound that should not be, that the pain jolting quickly beneath the healing tissue was just as fresh at it had felt the first time. The first time, and all the times after, before she remembered. Just as raw and just as real.

Her pulse throbbed with the knowing that this was the outcome she wanted, what they’d both wanted; or, if not that, then it was one they were allowed to have. There was no difference. The sun shone brighter and she smiled against the light, and when she closed her eyes it wasn’t because she didn’t trust herself not to look over her shoulder in time to watch him disappear around a corner. No, she wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have wanted her to.  

She didn’t see him again the next day, the day after that, or ever again. She didn’t think about it for a long time. She worked; she went places; she talked to her friends and kept her mind occupied and her schedule busy. She went on as she had, or tried to, without the history of a world only she remembered and her place in it holding her in its chains. She refused to let it.

Sometimes, in absent moments, she would trace where her ribcage ended, feeling for some semblance of a half-remembered ache, but instead her knuckles would bump against the jutting row of bones, eliciting the wrong kind of pain beneath the skin where a bruise once claimed ownership, the flesh where a lance had once borne cleanly through, once, only once. Once upon a time, she’d died. Her blood pooling on the floor as Earth abandoned itself to destruction. She’d died, and the world died with her.

She remembered that part too.

It was worth it to be given the chance to exist again. It was just something she sometimes had to remind herself was true, that was all.

 


End file.
